


Wanted

by GlynnisGriffiths



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-03 00:13:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11520465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlynnisGriffiths/pseuds/GlynnisGriffiths
Summary: “Do you want me, Peter?” And he could tell that she needed to be wanted. And he could understand that. He needed to be wanted, too.' (Rated for explicit sexual situations and language.)





	Wanted

**Author's Note:**

> [Originally posted on UnknowableRoom.org.]  
> A/N: This is my first NC17 fic; it's actually my first remotely sexy fic, and it's rather accidental. Peter just wandered into my head and he wanted to have sex! (Seventeen year old boys, go figure.) Any feedback would be greatly appreciated, because this is new territory and I'm not sure how it's gone.
> 
> Disclaimer: Peter Pettigrew, Hogwarts, its occupants and environs, are the property of JK Rowling and assorted publishers. No infringement is intended.
> 
> Warning: This is rated NC-17 for explicit sexual content and language. Please do not read any further if this is inappropriate for you as a reader.

Peter followed Doreen McKinnon down the corridor just before curfew, hardly believing his luck. The trick, she said, was to find a broom closet on an out of the way route, so that the prefects wouldn’t get there until much later on their rounds. He thought about asking how she knew so much about it, but decided not to. Doreen was the younger, quieter, rounder, and less outgoing sister of Marlene and Roger. He didn’t know her especially well, and had always thought she was a bit of a bookworm, but appearances could be deceiving. Peter certainly should know. Several weeks earlier she had approached him on his way down to dinner in the Great Hall. Well, approached was one way to put it. Peter’d been late to meet James, Remus, and Sirius, and Doreen had reached out from behind a tapestry and grabbed him as he hurried down a second floor corridor. She’d pulled him into a hidden alcove, pressed him up against the stone wall, and thrust her tongue into his mouth. Bookworm indeed. After several minutes of furious snogging, Peter’s brain had engaged and he’d thought speak.

“I- umm. I’m Peter.” He’d cursed his voice for breaking, but Doreen had just giggled against his lips.

“I know that, silly boy.” Then she had pulled back, ducked out into the hallway and run off, leaving Peter stunned.

Now, less than a month later, he was following her in search of a room in order to do he hardly dared imagine what.

At seventeen, Peter was what might be considered a late bloomer. He was shorter than average, with the sort of thin build that nonetheless could support a substantial bit of weight in all the wrong places. His hair was nondescript, wavering somewhere between dirty blond and mousy brown, and his eyes had a tendency to dart nervously. He was not so much unattractive as he was overshadowed. It wasn’t that Peter was bad looking; it was just that everyone around him seemed to be so much  _better_  looking. Despite these physical short-comings, he had a fair bit of social prestige in Hogwarts for being one of the Marauders, and he had an easy sense of humour and a ready smile that had endeared him to a few girls. He had had dates, certainly, but none of them had gone much of anywhere. The girls were either looking for more – or less – than Peter wanted to give, and so he had never had what might be considered a proper ‘girlfriend’ like James and Remus did, and he certainly didn’t have sexual conquests the way Sirius did. At least, not yet.

Peter hurried to keep up with Doreen, as she ducked around corners, and finally came to a halt in front of an old storage cupboard.

“In here,” She tugged on his arm, and pulled him in, clicking the door shut behind them. Peter blinked to adjust to the dusty and dim surroundings. The cupboard was bigger than the average broom closet, but not by much. There were shelves of old textbooks, chalk, and erasers. The floor had stacks of extra classroom chairs and a single teacher’s desk. Doreen pushed him against this, tugging his face down to hers and kissing him wetly.

Peter returned the kiss, running his tongue against her bottom lip, tentatively at first, and then greedily as her mouth fell open to admit him. He pushed into her mouth, their tongues tangling clumsily, deliciously, and he reached up absently to loosen his Gryffindor tie. Doreen pressed against him firmly, and he could feel her breasts beneath the fabric of her robe and her jumper. The pressure caused him to step backwards, and before Peter had even noticed the change of position, he was perched on the desk, and Doreen was shrugging out of her robes. He hopped up to do the same, then placed his hands on her hips. He inched his fingers upward until his thumbs grazed the skin under her jumper and shirt, just above the waistband of her skirt. This was new, uncharted territory. In their weeks of trysts behind tapestries and suits of armour, Peter and Doreen had done a great deal of snogging, but clothes had never actually come off, and touching had been restricted to over the fabric of their uniforms. Doreen made a pleased humming noise at his touch, though, and so Peter pressed his advantage and inched his right hand further north, until it came to rest on her ribcage, just below her breast. She smiled encouragingly and leaned into his touch. He slid his hand over the cotton material of her bra, and cupped her breast, feeling the straining of her taut nipple against his palm. Peter paused, hardly daring to believe his luck. Doreen didn’t jump away or smack him. In fact, she shifted, causing her nipple to brush against his palm, giving them both a momentary shiver. Suddenly she stepped back from him. As Peter registered the loss and withdrew his hand from her shirt, she reached down and tugged the Ravenclaw jumper she wore over her head.

“Easier this way,” She said, with a smile, biting her lip. Through the thin white of her school blouse Peter could see the outline of her bra, and he smiled at her in what he hoped was an encouraging way.

“Much.” Was about all he could manage to reply, because then she began to unbutton the blouse. He longed to touch her again, to feel that shudder as he teased the bud of her breast. Before she had undone half her buttons he had his hands back inside her shirt, this time cupping and kneading both breasts, encouraged by the satisfied sigh she emitted as she leaned back into a stack of chairs. Peter reached behind her, fumbling with the clasp of her bra – why did women make underwear so bleeding  _difficult?_ \- finally giving up and insinuating his fingers underneath one of the cups and pushing it above her breast. He paused to look at the delicate white skin, the small, pink nipple, erect and hard as a pebble. He reached out and began to tease it, feeling a shudder run through Doreen, and noticing the uncomfortable tightness of his trousers. He took advantage of her distraction to move her away from the chairs and to back her up against the closed door. He pressed his body flush against hers, and felt her gasp into his mouth as she became aware of his erection. For a moment Peter stopped, afraid he had scared her or repulsed her, and unsure what to do, but then he felt Doreen’s tongue press into his mouth, and her small hands fiddling with his belt and trouser buckle. It was his turn to gasp. She managed to free his trousers, and push them down, where they fell round his ankles, offering him relief from the pinching sensation. Somehow (Peter was a bit unsure how any of this was happening), Doreen had reversed their positions, and now it was his back pressed up against the rough wood of the cupboard door. She pressed against him, grinding her groin against him and sending delicious shocks through his body. Peter pushed up her skirt, pulling at the waist of her tights. Doreen added her fingers to the mix, pushing them down to her knees. He looked at her knickers – lacy purple ones – and thought, incongruously, that they didn’t match her bra, which was pink cotton. There was dark, curly hair escaping the elastic edges, and a wet patch darkening the fabric at the middle between her legs. Peter sucked in a breath and could smell the tangy, musky scent on the air. He slid a finger under the elastic, into the soft, tangled hair, edging through it to the wet, hot, entrance of her. He stroked a fold, amazed at the silky softness and the incredible heat. Doreen moaned. Peter pressed the finger deeper, and wiggled it round a bit, feeling her walls, wanting to feel her around him.

“Doreen- Doreen, can I-?” He met her eyes, and found consent, approval,  _eagerness_  there. Was this how Sirius felt with girls? Wanted?  _Needed?  Fuck,_ it felt good.

With both hands, Peter pushed Doreen’s knickers down around her tights. Her own fingers were occupied freeing his erection from his boxers. Suddenly, he felt her hand grasp the base of his penis and slide to its tip and then back. Peter let out a shuddering breath.

“Dor-“

She was teasing him, circling the tip of his cock with her fingertip, gliding the clear fluid, his own natural lubricant, all over his head. She steered him back to the edge of the desk, hands on his hips. Once there, she climbed up, and knelt, straddling him. She brushed, hot and wet, against him, causing his erection to move on its own, seeking entry, seeking release. Unable to stand the pressure any longer, Peter thrust, involuntarily, up towards her. But his aim was off, and gravity was against him, resulting in an unsatisfactory collision with her pelvic bone. She giggled, although not unkindly.

“Do you want me, Peter?” And he could tell that she needed to be wanted. And he could understand that. He needed to be wanted, too.

“God, Doreen. Fuck  _me_. I want you.”

She gripped his cock again, and leaned to whisper in his ear.

“I want you, too, Peter.” And this time when he shuddered it had nothing to do with her hand on him. “Take me. Have me.” And she guided him to her entrance, gently settling around him, first tentatively, and then pushing down more firmly.

Peter gasped at the first penetration. He’d never felt anything so warm, so wonderful. She was hot and tight and slippery around him, rocking rhythmically and slipping slightly up and down. Peter responded by thrusting his hips, in what he hoped was in time with her rhythm, longing to be further inside of her. Once he hit a spot that made her shriek, and she ground against him ever more insistently.

Doreen leaned forward and tangled her hands in his hair, moving her hips now in a slow, circular motion that was driving Peter slowly mad. He knew they hadn’t been at this for very long, and he knew from listening to Sirius, James, and Remus (mostly Sirius) that longer was better for girls when it came to sex. He tried to divert his attention from his own pounding need to climax, thinking of huge (and hugely boring) animagus texts he’d poured through, of divination predictions, of Quidditch statistics. He thought of pranks they’d played – a particularly successful recent one, involving a load of fireworks in the entrance hall sprang to mind. As it turned out, fireworks weren’t a good thing to think of. In his head, the incendiary devices exploded in an array of colours, shooting everywhere and bouncing off ceiling and walls. It drew his attention abruptly back to his own impending explosion. As soon as his attention refocused, Peter’s thrusts became more insistent and more erratic. Doreen seemed to know what to expect, and steadied herself on the desk in preparation just before, with a final deep push Peter emptied himself into her and slumped back against the desk.

Doreen slumped against him for a moment, before pulling back and climbing down. There was a light humming in her throat as she pulled up knickers and then tights, and fiddled with the buttons on her shirt. When she looked up and met Peter’s gaze she smiled, and blushed. _Blushed!_  After that! Peter blushed, too.

The silence stretched on, and he sensed that he should say… well, should say something. He vaguely remembered James saying something about cuddling afterwards, but Doreen didn’t seem to want to cuddle. She was pulling her jumper back over her head.

“Um. Well. Thanks.” As the words escaped his lips he wanted to recall them. Wanted to sink right through the floor and disappear. Her head popped through her jumper and her eyes widened with amusement.

“You’re welcome.” Doreen nodded encouragingly, despite Peter’s obvious insensate stupidity. “Thank you, too. That was… nice.”

“It was… nice.” He agreed blandly. Nice?  _Nice?_  It was bloody fucking (literally) fabulous! It _was_  nice. “So. Maybe we could, uh, do it again? I mean – only if you wanted…” He trailed off, staring fixedly at his shoes, determined to bore holes in them before he’d meet Doreen’s eyes after this fresh humiliation. Why, why was his mouth dead set against him at every turn? He could look at her nakedness, suckle her breasts, have sex with her for fucks sake!, and he couldn’t look her in the eye? He was a coward. That was all there was to it.

Peter raised his eyes in self-defiance, and caught Doreen’s gaze. No. He would not be a coward. He was a Gryffindor. He was a Gryffindor, he had just had sex with this girl, and he could damn well speak to her without becoming a stuttering idiot. He opened his mouth to undo the damage, but Doreen cut him off.

“I think I’d like that.”

Peter nearly fainted with relief. She liked him. She wanted him again. She wanted  _him_. It was so amazing, so unusual, it was stunning.

“So, um.” It was Doreen’s turn to search for her words. “We should probably go; you know, before the prefects make it up here.” She gestured wordlessly at Peter’s bottom half, and with a horrified jolt he realized his trousers and pants were still around his ankles. He flushed deeply, and hastened to pull them up, agreeing with her that they should leave.

After checking that the coast was clear, they both ducked out of the cupboard, clothes straightened, buckled, and fastened. The only thing that betrayed their earlier activity was the flush in Doreen’s cheeks, and the glazed look in Peter’s eyes. After a quick peck on his cheek, Doreen hurried off towards Ravenclaw Tower, leaving Peter standing stock-still in the corridor, still slightly stuporous.

Finally coming to himself, he turned and began to make his way back to Gryffindor, praying that James had rounds tonight, because he didn’t think he’d be able to explain what he was doing out of bounds to anyone else.

He still wasn’t entirely sure he believed it himself.

-End-


End file.
